Maple Syrup
by formerlyknownasone
Summary: Just a simple story revolving around Oliver, Katie and the colour of maple syrup. A simple KBOW story. Read and Review.
1. Denial

**Okay its been pretty long since I wrote a KBOW. I hope I didn't turn rusty or anything.**

**This piece is a five-chapter piece, modelled and modified and twisted from the five stages of grief. You know, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Don't worry though, its nothing to do with grief. I just borrow it for my titles. It's a lighthearted piece. Short and sweet.**

**Enjoy.**

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Stage One –Denial

Something miraculous happened to Oliver Wood on Wednesday morning: he had an epiphany.

For weeks his heart had been doing something really funny to him. There was this strange flip-flop movement in his chest that he somehow couldn't find account for. Sometimes his heart would just stop right there, sometimes it would beat extra fast. This would usually be followed by a certain breathlessness that he couldn't explain. It was very weird that his heart should behave in such an erratic and unusual behaviour. Indeed it was all very new and funny business to Oliver— he never felt like this before.

The bizarreness of this mysterious disease seemed to have a fishy connection with a certain pretty chaser. After all, these symptoms seem to only occur when she, and only she, entered the room. Oliver did suspect that it was somewhat linked to Katie Bell, the root cause, but he dismissed that thought immediately. She was too pretty- he meant innocent- to do something like that too him.

It had been Wednesday morning at around seven-forty, he remembered clearly. Oliver Wood had been in the Great Hall slowly eating his breakfast. There were hardly anybody else--no one even bother to_ wake_ until another ten minutes later—except a couple of Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff.

His Quidditch team were mostly there too, though not by choice. Years of dawn practices had reluctantly instil the habit of waking up early.

He sat near, but not to close to the Weasley twins. Oliver was far too afraid of what they would do to his food. Harry Potter hadn't turned up. As for Katie… Well, she was probably still asleep. Angelina and Alicia sat a couple of seats down the table, amused by some jokes Fred and George were sharing.

Oliver didn't bother to take part in their conversation. Instead he chose to sit down quietly and listen silently. He didn't talk much to people. He usually just stared at his pancakes, seemingly engrossed with prodding his breakfast food.

"Hey Wood—Are you listening?" Fred interrupted. He was gazing at his captain, who seemed too preoccupied. His captain seemed to be taking an unhealthy interest in staring at the food on his plate.

Oliver blinked and looked up.

"Um. Yeah," He said awkwardly before reverting his gaze down at his plate again. He had been admiring the swirls of the maple syrup. They reminded him of something that always caught his gaze during Quidditch practice. It was a very _nice_ colour.

_Funny_, he mused. They were the exact shade of Katie's hair colour. He smiled at that thought. He wondered why he never noticed it before.

Neither the girls nor the twins tried to draw the silent Oliver back into their conversation. It was a tried, failed, tried again, and failed again attempt. They weren't worried about him. He would usually say a word or two once he broke out of his reverie.

"Too many bludgers in the head, this one," George staged whispered to the girls. Oliver was now dreamily gazing at his breakfast plate again, occasionally breaking into a huge grin. He didn't even notice George's comment. They ignored him too.

He continued to gaze fondly (or so it seem to others) at his pancakes as more people started drifting into the Great Hall. The twins broke their toast-eating record with twenty-and-a-half pieces. Angelina refused to touch anything that looked brown. Alicia? She was too busy counting calories. Still, when they turned back to Oliver Wood, he was still wrapped up in his own world.

Then all of a sudden he snapped out of his dreamy state. Oliver blinked, and almost as if for the first time this morning, he started registering the surroundings. He blinked a couple more times again, as if needing a moment or two to adjust the change. Then he started to cut his pancakes and eat.

The Quidditch team looked at each other. Angelina shrugged, as if confirming their captain's lack on sanity.

He was still eating his breakfast two minutes later, now silently observing the twins arm wrestle on the table. Their fists were threatening to land either in pudding or on a pile of bacon.

Oliver hoped it was the latter. He didn't really care who won, as long as pudding didn't splatter on him. Then he felt a sudden heavy weight land across the table. He looked up.

There it was-- that funny feeling in his stomach had returned! His heart started to feel that familiar flutter he had been experiencing for weeks. He couldn't really understand -- Why was his heart beating _like that_? He could feel his heart beating out of rhythm, unbelievably fast as Katie Bell sat down in the seat across him. Calm down, he told himself, it just heartburns. Heartburns that appear and didn't fade away whenever she was near him.

Katie had plunked her head onto the table immediately, her long hair flying all over the table. Some of it landed in the sugar bin, and her hands were sprawled out. Then, almost as quickly as her head had landed on her table, she lifted it up.

It was obvious she was still sleepy—her eyes were barely opened, squinting and her eyelids drooping heavily. Her tie was skewed, and her robes were very much wrinkled. She obviously didn't bother to brush her hair. She looked anything but _tidy_.

Oliver was amazed how someone could still look so good in a half-awake state. She even looked pretty with her crumpled dark brown hair hanging messily, the rays of sunshine catching the golden glint in it and shining like that.

Her eyes suddenly flew open.

"You," she said dangerously. "Should just die."

"What?" Oliver said dazedly, lost. He was distracted by the lovely green colour of her eyes. It was turning him monosyllabic.

"_You,"_ She said in that low tone once more, "Always make us wake up too early for stupid dawn practices. And now, thanks to _yours truly_, I can't even get any decent sleep at all. "

"Oh." Oliver prodded his pancakes again, determined not to make eye contact with Katie anymore. It was giving him too many butterflies in the stomach.

She was spirited and stubborn and headstrong, but she never bore a grudge for long. Oliver liked that about her. It was a quality that came in handy in situations like this.

"Look, food!" Her eyes lit up as she lounged toward a large pile of— Oliver gave up the temptation and lifted his gaze—pancakes. He watched as she helped herself to a generous serving of it, wondering if Katie liked them as much as he did. It certainly seemed like it.

"You are gonna grow fat if you eat like this," Alicia told her, unable to keep the amazement and jealousy out of his voice. She was eating a grapefruit.

"Who cares? Anyway I never gain weight." Katie said cheerfully. "Anyway, you are so not _fat_."

"I'm not," Alicia agreed. "I'm just scarily obsessed with counting calories."

Oliver watched silently as Katie poured an unhealthy amount of maple syrup onto her pancakes. He glanced at her plate. Her pancakes look like little islands floating in a sea of maple syrup, with little blots of cream on top. There were banana slices too. It looked delicious.

He looked down at his own plate. A half-devoured piece of lonely pancake drowned in maple syrup swam in it. It didn't look that appetizing.

He took a sip of his milk, trying to distract himself from the lovely girl opposite him. The milk tasted like pancakes.

"Look," She laughed. Oliver admired how lovely it sounded. Like tinkling little bells. "Ollie has a milk moustache!"

Then, swiping a clean white napkin off the table, she gently blotted the rim of Oliver's mouth.

Oliver felt a jolt of electricity shooting through him. It made the heartburns worst. Something in his stomach turned happily from that electricity jolt. He prayed Katie that she didn't feel it. But she didn't even seem to detect it though.

"There," she said smiling, before disposing the napkin on the table. Her attention was soon focused on her pancakes again. Oliver said a quick prayer of thanks that she didn't seem to notice anything.

She picked up her fork, heaving a large amount of pancake, and Oliver watched as she opened her mouth widely and started to chew, and then did it again. It wasn't very ladylike, considering how much Katie could fit into that mouth of hers. It wasn't even physically possible for most girls. But Oliver found this process utterly fascinating.

There was a streak of maple syrup glistening on her face, no doubt from one of those helpings from breakfast.

He studied her closely. If he tilted his head that angle, her face would seem to catch the sunshine radiating from above. Her hair shone like golden streaks, along with that maple syrup across her cheeks. It even seemed to have brought out the colour of her eyes—they look brighter. Not that her eyes were brown of course. They were green.

She even managed to look pretty with syrup on her. Oh god, he was going crazy.

Oliver sat back, wondering what was it about Katie Bell, all five feet and five inches of her and her lovely green eyes and tardiness and untidiness, that gave him that funny feeling. The one that made his heart flutter in that weird, happy way.

That was when he had the epiphany: _He fancied her_.

Oliver looked at Katie. She was engaged in a highly wild conversation with the rest of the team now, chatting animatedly as she continued to shove her banana pancakes into her mouth. Of course he did not talk. He rarely did. But for the first time, he wished he could say something wise or intelligent. Or at least make an attempt.

"I like maple syrup," He blurted. The whole team turned to look at him.

Her lovely eyes met his in a single gaze and held it there. He felt a familiar skip of heartbeat.

_It's just heartburns_, he told himself firmly. _Just heartburns._

_

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_**There you are. The first part. I hope you guys like it **

**The second chapter obviously is on anger, though I'm not sure how to put it in Oliver though, 'cause he's just too cute here. **

**I'm trying to finish this up before Christmas, so cross your fingers!!! Review though. REVIEW!!!!**


	2. Anger

**Obviously I failed (unintentionally of course) to finish this by Christmas. But I will try to write as often as I can. But quality matters right?**

**I'm suffering from depression. No, not Christmas depression. More like, back to school depression. By New Year I would have finished up my two month vacation (which is not really one) and I haven't done the mounds of homework I have. (Read 'procrastinator' and 'lazy' under profile)**

**Help me through my depression will you? Review please : )**

**Enjoy.**

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Stage Two- Anger

Usually Quidditch was the solution to everything and anything. It helped Oliver in his health, it helped him decide his future career, and it helped him take his mind of stress.

However, Oliver Wood also discovered that Quidditch came with many problems too. Broken bones, the (lack of) school grades, and of course—as he had scarily realized during breakfast—Katie Bell.

Still he found himself returning to the pitch that afternoon alone. He needed to distract himself from certain issues. Hopefully Quidditch could do that. Perhaps the smell of fresh green grass could help.

Sighing, he soared in the air with his broomstick, the charmed Quaffles in tow. Chasers really would be better for practice, but they _were_ the source of distraction in the first place. He would just have to make do with charmed Quaffles.

Not that he really wanted to pin the blame on her. But it just happened, and really it was her fault that he was in this state. Her and Quidditch. And her pretty green eyes.

The bright red ball grazed the tail of his broomstick before his mind—busy in its thoughts of certain green eyes—could start comprehending the situation. Then it came to him: he missed.

_He missed!_

Oliver panicked. He knew that wasn't a particularly tricky shot, and yet he still didn't manage to save it. His nerves became worse at that thought. _He didn't save it. _What was happening?

He tried to block a shot again. It worked, but barely.

Oliver shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts once more. He needed to concentrate. He needed to focus more. Yes, concentration is the key right now.

He braced himself for the third shot, his shoulder muscles tensing. The Quaffle was speeding towards him now, and from that angle he could easily guess it was aiming for his left loop. Oliver positioned himself in place, ready to block the shot. This was easy, he told himself. It was just like that shot from Katie last week, he just had to—

_Katie._

He stumbled. The Quaffle sailed passed him into the hoop.

Oliver blinked. He missed—again. He couldn't believe it. What on earth was happening to him?

A desperate sort of fury came to Oliver. Viciously stabbing his wand towards the general direction of the Quaffles, he did what many would consider a suicide move—he charmed the Quaffles to move _faster_. Red balls started pelting towards the goalpost, and Oliver angrily whacked them away. It is for practice, Oliver furiously thought. For practice.

Oliver didn't even know what he was angry about. But it was consuming him and he hated to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything.

_Perhaps_, something in Oliver's head told him, _you are angry with yourself. Perhaps you are angry with the fact your are in denial for your love of-- _

Whack. Stop thinking about her. Whack. Don't think about her. Whack. Don't even.

The Quaffles became nothing but a red blur. They were moving way too fast. Oliver strained his eyes, but he realised he couldn't tell where were they. He suddenly stopped. He had been thrashing the air more than anything.

He couldn't take it anymore. His effort was futile. Oliver flew back down to the ground and landed with a hard thump, tired and jaded. The energy was now gone. And yet, somehow, the anger was still there.

Reluctantly he returned the Quaffles back into the crate, charming them in one by one. All the physical energy and leftover emotions had been sapped out of him. He felt the tense in his neck and how sore his muscles were. He was experiencing pain now, the kind that hurt and felt good at the same time.

He was useless, he thought angrily. He couldn't even save most of the Quaffles.

Oliver chucked the last of the remaining Quaffles back into the crate, venting his emotions on the wooden box. The crate, however, got its revenge. As he slammed the top of the crate down, the triumphant lid landed heavily on his finger.

He withdrew his hand and closed his eyes. The pain was excruciating. Served him right.

"Oliver!"

He winced as he opened his eyes. Katie Bell was running towards him.

The embarrassment of being injured in such a manner was equally painful as the throbbing of his left finger. Oliver felt the blood rushing to his head. He felt slightly dizzy, but tried to ignore it.

It was really ironical. He could have got himself injured by saving a Quaffle moving at dangerously high speed. He could have injured himself making a particularly good dive and fell off the broom. _But no,_ Oliver thought bitterly, he had to be injured by a Quidditch crate slammed onto his finger. It sounded just as embarrassing as it sounded.

It was ridiculous. And it had to be in front of Katie too.

"Are you okay?" Katie asked as she reached Oliver's side, worried. She kneeled down on the grass (how unglamourous as that sounds, Oliver thought, but she actually looked graceful doing it) beside him, looking slightly vexed and anxious. She glanced at Oliver, concern etched all over her face. He wanted to reply, but the giddiness got worse. The lump in his throat made it harder for him to form words.

Katie didn't seem to think much of this. Perhaps it was because he didn't speak a lot in the place. Well, he wasn't much of a talker.

"I am fine," he managed to spew out after a while. She gazed concernedly at him again, the little worry lines forming on her forehead. They were cute.

"No, you are not. That lid weights at least a good twenty pounds," She decided. Oliver felt inclined to agree. It was a hard blow.

Katie gently lifted his hand to the level of her eye, examining it closely. One of his fingers was bright red. A purplish-white crescent was beginning to form underneath his fingernail. His finger was throbbing still. She gently blew cool air over the finger with her breath. It soothed the sting a little.

"Why are you here?" Oliver asked, hoping he didn't sound accusatory. Genuinely, he was kind of curious.

"I came down for a walk," Katie shrugged. She was still tending the wound. The wind made her dark hair fan slightly in the breeze. "I saw you down here, so I sat down at the stadium and watched." She continued.

"Oh."

"You were playing like a mad man up there, Oliver, Is something wrong?" Katie questioned him. The creases on her forehead were getting darker, Oliver observed. Her whole facial expression had hints of frown in it.

"Why did you say so?" He asked back.

"You looked troubled. Plus the way you played… You played like you didn't mean it," Katie answered, tearing her glance away from his finger. She was gazing at Oliver, her green eyes riveted on him. He was reminded how lovely she looked, with little wisps of hair framing her face as the wind got stronger.

_I played like I didn't mean it?_

"Am I so obvious?" Oliver asked, frowning.

"No. But I could tell," She replied, smiling a little. "It was only after you started charming the balls to go so fast did I suspect something was wrong."

Oliver felt slightly warm. She saw him missed all those goals! He suddenly felt a stab of pain.

"Ow!" He cried, wincing slightly.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" Katie apologised, abashed. A pinkish glow tainted her cheeks. "I was just trying to check if there were splinters. I can't believe I was so clumsy."

"It's okay," He told her. Oliver didn't like Katie to feel guilty. "It doesn't hurt that much." He lied.

"That's a lie." Katie declared. He blinked again. How did she know _that_?

"The crate always slams on my finger," Katie explained, grinning. "Because I'm so careless, you see. So I know how much it bloody hurts."

Ah.

"Anyway, don't stress yourself too much over today's practice," She continued. "You are just a little off form today. You are still are still our number one keeper."

_Number one keeper_, he repeated. _Number one. _

Oliver couldn't reply. She had moved her head and repositioned herself closer to him in order to examine his finger once more. She was so near he could inhale her, smelling the scent of fresh green grass and maple syrup at the same time. He felt all his anger dissipate at that inviting scent.

She smelt lovely.

"You smell like maple syrup," He said abruptly. Katie looked at him, but didn't reply.

"Your finger looks fine now," She commented. Oliver saw that there was a little white crescent moon on one of her fingernails, just like the one he had now. "But I know just the way to make it better," she told him, smiling.

Tilting her head down, she brought her lips closer to Oliver's hand, blew gently over the injured finger again. And then, stroking the injury very softly and tenderly, she kissed his finger.

This was the part where Oliver realised it was a miracle—_It didn't hurt anymore._

Amazing, he thought.

"Better?" Katie asked.

_Better._

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**Lol I thought this was kind of cute! It's so hard to make this shy, awkward Oliver angry. So I let him vent it out on the ball. I hoped you all liked this !**

**If you all want something Christmas-y, I suggest you can read my new oneshot Outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. KBOW too. And remember to review.**

**Hmmm. The next chapter for this is Bargaining. Wonder how that goes. **

**Review! And a Happy Christmas to all, especially those you made my one year here so wonderful!**


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